


In the Sight of Dibella

by rippler3



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bretons (Elder Scrolls), Cunnilingus, Developing Relationship, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, First Time, Flashbacks, Fluff and Smut, Interesting NPCs Mod (Elder Scrolls), Lesbian Dragonborn, Lesbian Sex, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Masturbation, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pool Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Coital Cuddling, Scissoring, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Smut, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rippler3/pseuds/rippler3
Summary: The Dragonborn and her love retire to a hidden pool beneath the Eldergleam, to pledge themselves to one another before the Goddess of Beauty.
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin/Amalee
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	In the Sight of Dibella

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Moonlight and Shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23609851) by [daalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daalex/pseuds/daalex). 



Yleanor leans back against her pack, watching Amalee’s fingers pluck delicately at her lyre. Inigo is crooning away in accompaniment, Rumarin has summoned a ghostly drum to play on and Lydia is tending to the fire. But Yleanor only has eyes for Amalee.

Which is even more remarkable, Yleanor supposes, when she thinks about the scenery about her. They’re in the Eldergleam Sanctuary, sitting under the mighty tree.

It’s Amalee’s favourite spot in the world, and special for Yleanor as well – it’s the place where she first met Amalee, on her hunt for the blessings of all Nine Divines. She takes a slow breath, letting her mind drift back.

_It was early morning when she entered the great, open cave, wondering why she had been told to seek a follower of Dibella here. The question had occupied her all the way from Riften to there, and she’d used it to try and distract Inigo and Rumarin from pondering what exactly would be asked of her by the gods. There’d been a few impertinent suggestions before she just told them to shut it._

_Yleanor, who’d buried herself in books in the Synod while most of her contemporaries were getting amorous, joined the Fighters Guild just in time to realise that she wasn’t at all interested in men and then got caught up in the whirl of events which revealed her as the Dragonborn, was worried about that. She wasn’t sure how on earth a maiden could pass any test of Dibella’s._

_But when she saw Amalee, there hadn’t been any doubt that she’d found who she was after. The real surprise had come when she spoke with her, hearing her wax poetic about nature and accidentally provoking her into an impassioned defence of her honour as an adventurer. At length, she got her blessing, but not before tripping over her own tongue._

It still makes her cringe now to remember the words. “ _I too am an admirer of beauty. Namely yours_.” No wonder Amalee looked so startled, it was as elegant as mammoth crashing through a rowdy inn.

Amalee’s eyes flick up to hers as if she senses the thought. She recognises something of the look in Yleanor’s eyes, and blows her a quick kiss. It makes Ellan’s heart miss a beat, the reminder that this vision of beauty she found in a mystical grove is now her… what? Girlfriend? Paramour?

When the song ends, she puts aside the lyre and comes to sit next to Yleanor, resting her head on her shoulder. “Hey spellsword.”

“You’re forgetting,” Yleanor tells her, “I broke my sword in that crypt.” She points to her mace and axe, the one carved from dragonbone, the other forged of stalhrim.

“Yes, but those aren’t so good for alliteration,” Amalee says “and if you can’t alliterate with alacrity, alas and alack!” Yleanor laughs, not paying any attention to the eye-rolling among their friends. Not that Amalee could be put off. “I mean, magicmace is clunky like a mace anyhow.”

“So it could fit.”

“Not on you, you’re never clunky. Maybe… ooh, aetheraxe?”

“I like that,” Yleanor smiles, pulling Amalee closer and kissing her.

_They’d felt it building for some time. Amalee couldn’t have missed the anger that Eleanor tried to restrain when they had to bring that oaf Skjarn to face the other bard and he bombarded Amalee with lewd advances all the way from Dragonsbridge to Solitude. To say nothing of her let’s-get-far-away when the two fool minstrels started their pompous duel. That had taken them to Bloated Man’s Grotto and Amalee’s little revelation, when she decided what her purpose really was. To Yleanor’s relief, that purpose kept her at the Dragonborn’s side._

_The clinch moment had come a few days later, in the bowels of an ancient Nord tomb. Suddenly cut off from their friends by a rigged gate, Yleanor and Amalee had found themselves beset by draugr and skeletons. The battle that followed was one for the sagas, though at the time they’d both been sure this was the ignoble end to their stories._

_No one, when asked to name a combination which would come out on top against a Deathlord and his twenty armoured killers. An Orc and a Nord in heavy plate, sure. Maybe an Altmer battlemage, if he knew his fire and turn spells. Definitely not two young Breton women, even if one of them was a spellsword and the Dragonborn to boot._

_But between their bladework and Yleanor’s war magic, they came through. Their armour was tattered and torn, both of them covered in shallow cuts which Yleanor had to heal away, but they were alive._

_“I don’t know what to say,” Amalee had breathed when Yleanor pulled her back to her feet._

_“I don’t think I do either, but…” Yleanor trailed off, not letting go of the taller woman’s hand as they stared into each other’s eyes._

_And then it turned out there was nothing to say at all. Amalee’s sword and Eleanor’s mace clattered on the stone floor. When Inigo and Rumarin finally found another way into the chamber, five minutes later, they were still kissing._

“Ama,” she murmurs as the others ease into their bedrolls. “I think it’s time.”

Amalee’s eyes widen, and she strokes Yleanor’s hair. Her dragonfire hair, she loves to call her bright red locks. “You mean the Glimmerpool?”

Yleanor bobs her head. “Yep.”

If you wade up one of the streams far enough – not that most people venture that far – it takes you up to a secluded pool. Amalee took Yleanor there when they first met, to judge Yleanor’s eye for natural beauty before bestowing the blessing of Dibella.

That pool, in Yleanor’s mind, is the best argument for Dibella at least sharing this place with Kynareth. You have the Eldergleam, so ostentatiously phallic, and then you have what Amalee calls the Glimmerpool. Wet, warm, inviting and yet it takes a little bit of work and commitment to get there…

Amalee had to have it pointed out to her. Yleanor finds herself wondering if she has any right to think another virgin naïve, but her girlfriend’s guilelessness has depths to rival the Sea of Ghosts.

“We’re really doing this, my love?”

Yleanor had nervously broached the subject at dawn, before anyone else woke up that morning. Their first times – their first _time_ really, combined – ought to be something special in her mind. And Breezehome is another two days’ ride away and after the two of them nearly died in that crypt, Yleanor doesn’t want to go another day without consummating their passion.

“And you think,” Amalee adds haltingly, “that Dibella will approve?”

“Two maidens in love, giving themselves to one another?” Yleanor grins. “I can’t see how Dibella would object.”

_“I’m near enough ready. I’ve heard all about it, though I’m not sure where you put the birds and the bees.”_

_Yleanor missed her aim. Her axe thunked into the stump on which she was meant to be chopping firewood. “Come again, Ama?”_

_“Well, I guess you put the bees in one corner in a jar and a bird in a cage somewhere else. Do you think we should borrow Inigo’s dragonfly-”_

_“You’ve absolutely never made love before, have you?” Amalee spluttered briefly, but Yleanor left her axe buried in the stump and went to her, taking her arms in her hands. “Hey, it’s alright to say. You’d… you’d be my first as well.”_

_“Truly?” Amalee licks her lips nervously and, true to the cliché, there’s a lip bite in there too. “But you’re a Companion?”_

_“One of four women in Jorvaskr, and all the other three only differ on how hairy and smelly a man they like.” Yleanor runs a hand through her hair and makes a rueful expression. “I spent a lot of time on my spellbooks too, when I was younger. I never thought of it as saving myself, I got… left behind a little.” She takes a breath. “So… I guess we’ll be starting from the same place, together.”_

Yleanor lets Amalee go on ahead. By unspoken agreement they’ve decided to prepare separately. Yleanor knows of a few libidinous rituals in other parts of Tamriel which follow this route, having two partners only see each another at the point of consummation.

She follows the stream just around the bend, losing sight of the wider Grove. Once she’s confident no one will spot her, she undresses. Her Bosmer-style armour – the garb of the Wild Hunt – has been left at the camp with the Apotheus gear she made for Amalee.

It’s a very particular ritual, she realises as she shucks off her smallclothes, and one with a strange, implicit sense of risk. She is exposing herself for someone she cannot see – even if that person is Amalee, who could never feign anything to her knowledge.

She steps into the stream to wade up, knee-deep. The water’s warm, heated by the thermal springs which run through this part of the Rift.

To her surprise, Yleanor finds herself spontaneously composing a prayer. “Lady Dibella, I come to this place, baring all that I am, to pledge my maidenhead. I plight it for my love who pledges the same for me. Grant us bliss and tenderness of this deed, and let it please thee.” Hopefully the goddess is listening, and Yleanor crosses her fingers that her time with the Bards College has gone some way to making her more persuasive.

A minute later she turns a corner and knows for sure that Dibella favours her. Because there is Amalee on the other side of the Glimmerpool, bathed in warm light which comes from some unseen source and as naked as the day she was born.

Yleanor doesn’t try to hide her gasp. The only thing Amalee is wearing is her Amulet of Dibella, glittering above her breasts. It’s not as if Yleanor hasn’t seen her naked before, in the bathhouse or in a river, but there’s a change in how Amalee carries herself.

It’s almost like she _wears_ her nudity, understanding the power of the beauty she’s been so bashful about up til now. Light reflects from the water, playing over her long, lissom body.

As are Amalee’s hands. Yleanor had barely imagined that Amalee had it in her to caress herself like this, but here she is leant back against the stone wall, squeezing one breast and pinching a nipple as her hand skims over her lean stomach. Upon seeing Yleanor she smiles, nervously but with a distinctly lustful edge, and that hand slips down between her legs, under the light brown patch of pubic hair.

Yleanor can’t bring herself to interrupt, so she does the next best thing – sits herself down on a rock and starting to touch herself. “You’ve made me wet already, Ama.”

“Show me,” Amalee says, starting to breathe heavily. In response, Yleanor spreads her legs wide, baring her teeth as she runs a single digit through her slit.

Amalee’s fingers whirl in a spiral about her clitoris, speeding up when she sees Yleanor insert two fingers fully into herself and start to stroke her own clit. They spur each other on, both women feeding on the other’s arousal.

Amalee’s ahead, despite Yleanor’s best efforts. Her whole body trembles as she gets close and then she buckles, catching herself against the wall and riding out the shudders that course through her.

Yleanor watches it all, starting to shake herself. Amalee lifts her head as it subsides and her gaze falls upon Yleanor again. Somehow her expression is both beatific and filled with primal lust. Her walk, when she wades across the pool, is different to before. It’s a brazen stride, a challenge to all of Tamriel that Amalee feels Dibella’s favour tonight.

Yleanor can only watch, finding herself locked in place as she nears her own orgasm. Amalee bends down to kiss her, gently taking her face in her hands. “You’re stunning,” she says softly, “you’re so beautiful when you give yourself pleasure.”

“Ama-”

“Yes, love?”

“Let me see your cunt,” Yleanor gasps. She’s close, it’ll only take a little more to push her over.

Amalee straightens up and moves closer. Yleanor reaches out with her free hand to grasp a long, pale thigh and Amalee shifts, giving her a full view of her cunt. The soft folds are flushed pink with arousal and moisture beads on them, telltale signs of Amalee’s pleasure.

Amalee lays a hand on hers and Yleanor realises with a start how wet it is. She grasps Ama’s wrist, gasping “please,” and guides her fingers to her mouth, moaning, sucking greedily for the taste of the other woman’s sex.

There it is, sweet and salty, and it’s all Yleanor needs. Her voice fails her for a moment and she slumps, forehead against Amalee’s thigh until she finally musters a plaintive cry. Slick pours from her, soaking her hand.

When her vision clears, Amalee is still stood over her, elation and adoration lighting her face. She speaks first. “Yleanor, what would you like to do first?”

“Well, touching seems the obvious thing now.” Yleanor rises, putting her arms around Amalee and kissing her.

Amalee does the same as Yleanor’s hands go roaming, starting at her shoulders and moving slowly down. Yleanor caresses her ribs, her hips, her back and finally beginning to stroke and squeeze her arse. “How’ve I kept my hands off you so long?”

She moans as Amalee takes her breasts in her hands. Amalee grins and whispers back, “I ask myself the same.”

Ellan grins when Amalee kisses her again. “I can’t hold it any longer. I need to have you, I need to devour you.” She drops her head to Amalee’s breasts, smothering them with kisses and feeling the nipples begin to harden against her lips. Tentatively her tongue flicks out, tracing the areola of one breast as Amalee’s breathing becomes more urgent.

Emboldened, she takes the nipple fully in her mouth, sucking and licking. Her right hand drifts from Amalee’s arse to her hip, her upper thigh and then the downy thatch of hair above her sex. After a few moments caressing her lover’s mound, Yleanor’s desire has grown too great to fight. She goes seeking the source of the wetness on the pale thighs.

She finds delicate skin, moist heat. Amalee gasps at the touch, and Yleanor realise they are both staring down at her hand, reaching between Amalee’s legs. She looks up at Amalee’s face, prompting her to return it, and they share a look of deep longing before Yleanor sinks to her knees.

It’s not enough to just see her quim any more. Yleanor needs to keep touching it, see the way the folds part for her fingertips and the slick which already gathers on them.

Amalee lifts her leg just a little to admit Yleanor’s fingers, and the breath she takes flutters in her throat.

“You’re enchanting,” Yleanor tells her. She gazes into those big, beautiful eyes, brimming with desire and adoration. This is what she’s wanted ever since she saw Amalee, and maybe it’s been that way for Amalee too.

She massages the brunette’s labia and the tip of her middle finger begins to slowly traverse the slit, slipping just a little into Amalee. They both exhale deeply at that, and Yleanor feels a deep, aching heat pool in her own cunt.

She makes a trails of kisses up Amalee’s leg, starting from the point where it leaves the water. Yleanor feels the quiver start in her thigh as she reaches her lover’s knee, and every time Amalee’s leg shakes it gets her another quick kiss.

Up she goes, drawn by the way Amalee’s cunt glistens wetly in the warm light of the cave. The hair around her sex is wet too, and it only inspires Yleanor to greater ardour. Wild and wet as the Reach Amalee hails from, she thinks.

Her hand takes its rightful place again between her lover’s thighs, and as Yleanor begins to lick and suck at the little trails of moisture, she slips her middle finger fully into Amalee. For a moment the slender thighs go rigid and neither of them breath until Amalee gives a long, shuddering sigh. “Yes, Yleanor. That’s wonderful.”

But Yleanor wants to give her more, wants to feel more on her own skin. So she sinks her index finger too into the warm, inviting wetness, revelling in the way the folds yield. Amalee accepts her with a grateful moan, right up to the knuckles, and she gently takes hold of the back of Yleanor’s head.

“Set fire to me, love. My beautiful darling Dragonborn, set me ablaze.”

Yleanor begins to lap at Amalee’s labia, licking around the point where her fingers slip into her cunt. The other woman’s clit beckons to her, swollen by her arousal, but Eleanor holds back until she can’t resist any more.

She pushes her lips against the nub and slowly, so slowly that she feels Amalee tense again, lets her tongue part. The first lick she bestows is just as lingering, but she swiftly gains in tempo.

Amalee’s grip on her scalp tightens, but Yleanor doesn’t mind, lost in her lover’s pleasure, lost in the wail that finally rings through her clenched teeth – “Yes, _yes!_ ”

Yleanor withdraws her fingers, eager to suck and the slick from Amalee’s hole. She gazes up lovingly, peeking over the soft brown bush as her lover’s composure slowly returns. Then she stands and immediately Amalee takes her in her arms and kisses her urgently, moaning. “Gods, I can taste myself.”

“And don’t you taste divine, Ama?”

Amalee stands upright, one hand squeezing Yleanor’s breast as the other slips down to her arse. She continues to kiss Yleanor, but she’s moving backwards, pulling Yleanor with her until they’re floating, wrapped around each other. Stroking and fondling each other – lazily in Yleanor’s case, as she revels still in Amalee’s pleasure, but her love is growing more ardent by the second.

Amalee’s voice is a hazy whisper against Yleanor’s lips. “All I want to taste now is you, sweet. This way.” She takes Yleanor’s hand and leads her to a low bank, her free arm moving in slow and lazy arcs.

There’s a bed of moss that Yleanor’s never noticed before. It sits by the water’s edge, broad and thick. Amalee’s seen it and clearly has the same idea as her.

She crawls out of the water, her narrow buttocks swaying enticingly as she goes, and lies down on the soft blanket of moss. Sighing happily, she turns her gaze back to Yleanor, reclining with her legs parted just enough to give a glimpse of her sex. “Yleanor, you should feel this, it’s so soft.” Her eyes glitter. “But now, come down here. I want you to give me that dragonfire quim.”

Yleanor leaves the pool and crawls across the smooth stone and then the moss to get to Amalee, greeting her with kisses when she reaches her. But Amalee’s impatient; soon her lips are kissing along Yeanor’s jaw, down her neck and clavicle, lingering at her breasts and then carrying on further down as she coaxes Yleanor forward.

“I love your beautiful warrior belly,” she whispers, kissing that too. “But I want more. Don’t make me wait.”

Yleanor grins at her, and crawls up further, kneeling either side of Amalee’s face. Her lover’s lips press against her sodden bush. “I’m all yours, Ama,” Yleanor whispers. “Dibella as my witness, do what you want with me.”

“Then you’re a wondrous gift, Yleanor, you and your love.” And Amalee’s lips move to Yleanor’s sex.

Those lips are soft, brushing slowly against the delicate skin. Her kisses are as tender as those she bestows upon Yleanor’s mouth. Yleanor shuts her eyes, her breaths coming in stop-start shudders.

And there’s her tongue, darting out to swipe for an instant at Yleanor’s labia, and soon further in. It’s a deep, passionate kiss as Amalee’s tongue burrows eagerly into her cunt, and Yleanor already feels her own wetness on the brunette’s mouth.

She begins to move herself, writhing in a slow dance as she matches her movements and rhythm to Amalee’s. The moans come welling up from her throat. She almost forgets Amalee’s hands, massaging her arse. The fire that Amalee stokes in her cut blots out almost all else.

Amalee’s eyes are closed for a full few minutes, so intent is she on the sounds Yleanor makes and the taste and feeling on her mouth. They open when Yleanor takes her face in her hands, staring down at her. “This is bliss,” she says, feeling like Amalee has ripped the walls of her heart’s castle away. “Just a little more Ama, I’m ready to come for you, I’m… _ah!_ ”

She can’t muster another word as Amalee’s mouth darts to her clit and fastens on it, sucking and licking so she can feel it throb. She manages a little stream of “Oh”s but then Amalee’s tongue finds just the right little bit of her cunt and a plaintive “ _gaaah!_ ” breaks free from Yleanor’s lips.

Amalee delivers her to bliss. Yleanor falls forward, hands on the moss to catch herself while her wet hair falls around her face. Slick pours from her as she bucks and moans, this fierce blaze of pleasure far more powerful than when she brought herself off.

Her lover is lapping and sucking at her cunt still, drinking in every trace of her climax, and it proves the perfect pleasure as Yleanor slowly, slowly comes down. When it finally abates, she lies down on her side, kissing Amalee and gasping as she tastes their mingled pleasure on her tongue.

But her desire is still not yet sated, and she can tell Amalee’s isn’t either. So, she tells her, “I have an idea to give us both pleasure.”

“Tell me,” Amalee breathes, eagerness dripping from every word.

Yleanor clambers onto her. “I want,” she growled, “to _rut_ with you. I want to give you a true Dibellan Kiss, my cunt on yours. That’s what you crave, my love, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” breathes Amalee. “Do it to me, Yleanor. I’m all yours.”

Yleanor grins, feeling devilish. “All mine, eh? Well…” She pounces, grabbing Amalee’s left ankle with a speed that shocks a squeak out of the brunette, and hoists it. Kisses the marble skin of Amalee’s ankle, letting her eyes rake slowly down her lovely long leg to the soft bush and the furled pink flower of her sex.

Amalee isn’t just the giver of Dibella’s blessing, she thinks. She _is_ the blessing, bestowed so generously upon her.

She straddles her, laying Amalee’s raised leg against her torso and kissing her shin. Then she lowers herself, groaning happily as she feels the hot, wet kiss of Amalee’s cunt against her own, and begins to move.

“Exquisite,” Amalee whispers as Yleanor settles into the motion, rolling her hips. The hand which isn’t clutching Amalee’s leg against her moves to her lover’s breast, there to stroke and tweak and tease and coax more of those delightful sounds from Amalee’s throat.

Amalee’s head is tipped back, her eyes closed, while her hands have taken hold of Yleanor’s angular hips. She too begins to move now, taking her lead from Yleanor and pushing her hips up against hers. It spurs Ylreanor on, makes her press and thrust with greater force and urgency.

“Oh, that’s my spellsword,” Amalee smiles, her rich brown eyes opening again, her gaze soft. “Forceful and magical all at once.”

Yleanor can only smile in reply, so intent is she on Amalee’s pleasure. The way their folds press wetly together and glide across one another, the brush of Amalee’s damp hair against her clit, it drives her wild and demands she do all she can to give Amalee the same degree of pleasure.

Sweat joins the water and slick on their skin as Yleanor raises the tempo still further. Amalee begins to shake, and the trembles run through her raised leg so Yleanor feels it against her groin, belly and breasts.

Whimpers and little cries issue from her lover’s mouth, and to her surprise, her own. Slick and sweat wets the moss beneath them, and Amalee clutches at the hand over her breast. She stares up at Yleanor, mouth parted and eyes so full of adoration that it almost stops Yleanor’s heart.

“Tell me you love me,” Yleanor breathes, feeling her climax draw near and knowing from Amalee’s growing cries that she must be too.

Amalee raises herself off the ground just a little, her face so filled with desperate desire that Yleanor dives straight in to kiss her. “I love you,” Amalee whimpers when she relents. “You’re so good to me Yleanor, don’t stop, don’t stop…”

There’s no question of stopping. Yleanor thrusts fervently, crying out herself, holding Amalee’s gaze.

Two bodies and two souls, so tightly intertwined as to be one, and so they come as one, screams mingling among the echoes of the cave. Yleanor goes rigid, her hips jerking with each jolt that runs through her while Amalee goes boneless beneath her.

Fluidity returns to her limbs, and she eases her lover’s leg down before bending to bestow kisses upon her lips. “Maidens no more,” she murmurs.

A cheerful mumble is Amalee's reply. “And all the better for it. Do you think we pleased Dibella?” she asks.

“How couldn’t we have?” Yleanor slips her fingers down between their legs and brings them to her mouth, glistening wet with their pleasure, and licks them. “Pleasure like what we had tonight…” she giggles as Amalee laps at her fingers too. “That surely pleased Dibella and Mara too.”

She stays lying on top of Amalee, nestling between her legs. “No one will believe,” she murmurs, “that the Dragonborn’s first time went like this.”

“Will it be left out of the great tales?” Amalee asks, looking a little crestfallen. “I think a good love story should always be told, leaving in the lovemaking. And surely Dibella would want someone to hear it.”

“Maybe it won’t make it into the great tales, _but_ ,” Yleanor says, nuzzling her nose. “Maybe I could write this story, and send it out on the sly. It’ll be scandalous, people will say it’s a disgrace, but we’ll know.” Amalee laughs delightedly. “And those lovers who sit down together with the disgraceful dirty book… I think they’ll know.”

“I love that. And I love you.”

There’s a long interlude of kissing. At some point they decide they won’t return to the camp until morning. They’ll stay, sleep, make love whenever they wake and then return to the world outside. Let tonight be all theirs, and theirs alone.

“We’ll have to find some other glorious places to do this,” Amalee eventually declares. “We’ll be Dibella’s doublers, doing beautiful things in the most beautiful parts.”

“Can we skip the Throat of the World?” Yleanor suggests.

“Err… yes, we can. It wouldn’t please Dibella if we froze our tits off.”

Yleanor giggles. “Flawless reasoning.”

Amalee holds up a finger. “But we should find a pretty waterfall somewhere. And there’s the Lover Stone in the Reach. I mean, what did the Divines put it there for unless they wanted us to make love there?”

“Sounds good,” Yleanor grins, loving how Amalee’s sweet earnestness isn’t lessened one bit when she’s talking about fucking from one end of Skyrim to the other. “But I’ve got an idea for our second tryst. A warm bed in an inn.”

“Which is nice. But…” Amalee’s smile is impish. “How about this. Under our cloaks in our little tent tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, that’s better.”


End file.
